Gotta Try 'Em All
by Thrice Written
Summary: It's no secret that America and England can get pretty kinky when they're in the mood for it. But just how kinky, exactly? Well, a little indulgence every now and then can't hurt . . . right? Relevant warnings inside. Kink fic. RP with americalovesthecockpit.


**Gotta Try 'Em All**

americalovesthecockpit and Thrice Written

USUKUS

**R18**

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**Author's Notes**:

I've been wanting to write a kink fic since FOREVER, so **americalovesthecockpit** and I brainstormed a list of kinks we both liked (just so you know, we are both kinky as hell; consider that a preliminary warning), and this is the fruit of our labors. Or the first chapter, anyway. Hope you guys enjoy, and make sure to give americalovesthecockpit some love too! She's an amazing writer and RP partner, and I'm so honored to be writing with her. Go check out her fics if you haven't already (she is the master of the humor/crack/smut combo)!

Relevant warnings and extra info will be posted at the beginning of each chapter.

Psst - keep your eye out for our little running gag. ;)

Now let's start with something fairly vanilla . . .

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**Warning(s):** phone sex

**England** = americalovesthecockpit

**America** = Thrice Written (me)

x

_**Episode One:**_

**Star 69**

Weekends were nice at America's place. They usually called for lots of sleep, junk food, video games, and quality time with his whale and Tony. No paperwork. No stress. No quips from his boss's wife about his weight, or another missive from a UN member fretting over the civil war in Syria. America was free to do whatever the hell he wanted for forty-eight hours, and no one was allowed to interrupt his happy time unless it was a serious emergency (which, in his book, meant nothing short of the end of the universe).

In other words, it was total bliss.

Until he realized that there was one thing missing—sex. More specifically, sex with England. When was the last time they'd had enough time together to get beyond a kiss and some mild groping? It really wasn't fair. After all, England had the whole of Europe at his fingertips (not that America knew anyone in Europe who would willingly sleep with England besides France, and maybe Spain if he was drunk enough). All America had was Canada and Mexico. And Mexico didn't count. Actually, neither did Canada, now that he thought about it. Like hell he was going to bone his own brother when he had other options, limited though they were.

Where was England, anyway? Well, knowing him, he was probably at home, drinking tea and hallucinating about petting his imaginary unicorn and being boring. It couldn't hurt to check up on him and propose a quickie, could it? America shoved aside his tub of ice cream, got his phone out with sticky fingers, and pressed speed dial.

He waited until the call went through. Then he said, "Hey. Wanna come over and sex?"

England didn't reply for a moment. He was trying to process America's 'greeting.' That sure was a funny way to say hello. Surely he taught that boy better than that. England's eye twitched. And maybe, just slightly, his cock too.

After all, it'd been a dry spell for England as well.

He just wasn't expecting to hear that when he picked up the phone, sitting at home, drinking tea, petting his unicorn, and other exciting things.

Finally he replied, "As much as I'd love to see your tight, tanned arse today, there is sadly an entire ocean between us."

The unicorn gave him a queer look.

America pouted over the phone. How he managed that, he didn't know, but he was undeniably a hero, and therefore it worked. The manly semi-whine he put on probably also had something to do with it. "Why are you always so obsessed with my arse? I mean, my _ass_. I'd so be topping if, you know, you weren't about a million miles away." He considered that for a second. "Although I do have a nice butt. But that's not the point. Can't you just, I dunno, teleport or something? Do that thing in _Harry Potter_ and Apparate your way to my house. Since you're apparently _so_ good at magic."

That sarcasm slipped in there on its own, but whatever. England probably wouldn't mind. Probably.

"Oh I would, but I'm afraid it's been a while. And I don't think you'd find me vomiting all over myself to be very attractive," England replied in a way that America wouldn't know if he was being sarcastic or not. Apparition often made those new to trying it and those out of practice toss their cookies, as all magic and Harry Potter fanboys and fangirls know. "I'd much rather use the TARDIS. And if you're confused why I picked something that also time travels, it's because you seem to have forgotten our time difference. It's nearly midnight here. A bit late to be calling, don't you think?"

England paused, still petting his unicorn, then sighed heavily. "Unfortunately, time and space traveling phone booths do not exist."

"Your face doesn't exist. And what do you mean they don't? Haven't you ever read that book . . . what's it called . . . _The Phantom Tollbooth_? Oh, wait. That's a tollbooth. Never mind." America scrubbed at his hair before realizing he'd likely just smeared ice cream all over his head.

"And I totally didn't forget the time difference," he added, even though he had. He pinched Nantucket and tried to see whether or not it had gotten sticky. Was England in a different time zone? They were only an ocean apart, weren't they? "I just didn't think you'd be so anal about it . . . but then again, you're an old man, and so you're probably _way_ up past your bedtime. I bet you usually go to bed at like, eight or something. After you jerk off all by yourself." Hmm. That was a nice segue into something else. "Speaking of which . . . does Dover miss me? Hehe."

One thing at a time. "As if you read books," England scoffed. "And _Twilight_ doesn't count."

England ignored the comment about him being 'so anal.' That was too easy. Really, he was surprised America didn't snicker while he said it.

"You're rather randy tonight, aren't you? And presumptuous. You know I usually go to bed at eight-_thirty_." England wasn't going to elaborate on what was keeping him up so late. He set his teacup aside on a nearby end table. "So to answer your question, Dover certainly doesn't miss your mouth." He thought for a moment. "Let me rephrase that, actually. I don't miss the things that come _out _of your mouth. But both Dover and I do miss your mouth itself, because of what can go _in_ it." If only America could see the way England's eyebrow quirked. "If one knows what one means."

"Oh, yup. I know what you mean. Don't pretend you're not as hard up for it as I am, old man," America said with a laugh. He decided to let the jabs at his so-called illiteracy slide because verbal foreplay was much higher on his to-do list. England was pretty high up on that list, too. But since they were so damn far apart with no way to get to each other on such a short notice . . . "So you _do_ miss my mouth, huh? Well, I miss yours more. Not just for the stuff it can do—I'm gonna admit just this once that you have one hell of a tongue—but also for the stuff it can _say_." Grinning, he pitched his voice deeper. Just the way he knew England liked. "C'mon, baby. Tell me what you wanna do to me. Give me some dirty talk, yeah?"

He licked the ice cream residue off his fingers and waited eagerly for England's reply.

A tiny shiver ran down England's spine. He loved it when America's voice dropped like that. It was his bedroom voice. England only heard America use it before and during sex, so now whenever he heard it, it automatically turned him on. Like Pavlov's dogs, except instead of dogs' mouths leaking saliva, it was England's cock leaking precum.

But he wasn't quite there yet.

"Well, once I had you out of those ugly sweatpants you always wear around the house," England began, "I'd drop to my knees. I'd make you hard with just my mouth. Here's something _I'm_ only going to admit once, but I love that feeling. The feeling of you swelling against my tongue. I'd give you a lick from base to tip, dragging my tongue along that vein, that big one you have. I remember little details like that. Like I know how you like it to be licked in that spot right under the head. I'd do that for you too, so that I could hear you moan. Your voice always turns me on."

Well, damn if hearing England talk like that didn't turn America on, too. He slipped a hand down his flat stomach, over his jeans, and toyed with the button with thumb and forefinger. He didn't want to give in to the thrill just yet. England sure was making it hard, though, in more ways than one.

"I'd moan, all right. The way you go for my sensitive places gets me hot. I'd put one hand on the back of your head and push you forward, to get you to let me down your throat. I'd fist your hair and tug 'cause I know you like it on the rough side. I wanna see you look up at me with those big green eyes of yours. I wanna hear you beg some, and I wanna hear how much you want me in your voice." America wasn't usually one to lavish so much attention on the details, but he could try. For England.

"Would you open up for me, sweetheart?" he added sweetly.

"I'd open wide," said England. "Few things get me harder than feeling your thick cock slide past my lips and twitch slightly as it rubs against my tongue. I'd tell you how much I want it. I'd tell you how much I admire your cock. It's the perfect shape, length, width— Christ, it's amazing. Like the kind you would only see in some smut rag or a porno, but it's all for me. Only _I_ get to worship it. And I'd beg for the chance to. The chance to taste it on my tongue. To fill me up. To press so deep the back of my throat burns. But you're right, I like it rough, so if I whimper just yank my hair harder and keep going. Don't stop until every bit of your length is down my throat. I'll just hold my mouth open and take it. You can do whatever you want to me."

The unicorn took a few steps away from England. She didn't want that hand to pet her anymore.

America paused, letting England's words soak in, trying to imagine what he would do if they were actually physically with each other. A blowjob from England was like heaven in a box, but it wasn't fair for England to do all the work, was it? Usually, when they were together, they'd be tearing at each other's clothes like animals before making it halfway up the stairs. On a good day, they'd get naked right in the living room and have sex on the couch. Or the coffee table. Or the rug.

But before they got that far, there would always be some sort of foreplay (unless they were both super desperate). America thought about everything they'd done before in real life . . . and from there, he drew his inspiration.

Cradling his phone with one hand, he started to unbutton his jeans with the other. "So I can do whatever I want, huh? Fuck, England. I'd be so tempted to have you deep-throat me, but instead, I'd slide my cock out of your mouth—not 'cause I don't like what you're doing, but 'cause I wanna kiss you and make things even. That's exactly what I'd do, after lying down and pulling you on top of me. I'd be able to taste myself on my tongue, and normally that wouldn't be my thing, but goddamn does it get me horny 'cause you're sexy as hell and you make everything taste amazing."

"Then," he continued, working his zipper down, "I'd run my hands up your body, undo all the annoying buttons on the shirt you'd be wearing, and give your nipples some loving 'til they're hard under my fingertips. Since you begged me so nicely before, I'd let you have what you want again. I'd flip you over so that you'd be straddling my face, in the perfect position to keep sucking me off, and I'd pull your pants down so that I could get your dick in my mouth, too." He stopped to catch his breath. "Are you touching yourself yet, darling?"

"Not quite," England replied after a brief hesitation. It took a moment for him to come out of the fantasy. America was painting quite a vivid picture, and it didn't require much of an imagination for England to see it, because America had done all those things to England before. Many times. It was less fantasizing so much as simply remembering, but that only made it even more arousing to England. Because he could so easily remember how good it felt, and the things that followed that were even better. "But I'm definitely getting there."

England fondled himself over his pants. They were quite tight now, but he didn't want to take it out quite yet. Just a little longer. "You're such a tease. Pulling out when you know how much I wanted to suck you off. You love to do that, don't you? You love to drive me wild. Even when I'm begging for it, you want me to beg even more. And I can't even complain because I know I would love it when you kiss me like that, even right after you pulled your dick from my mouth. And I'd love for you to play with my nipples, too—you know how sensitive they are. But you better make it up to me. That foreplay had better been building up to something amazing. You better let me taste you again. And of course, _my_ cock is right in front of your face. What would you do for me?"

"Not what you think, baby. Not just yet. But I promise you that you won't be disappointed," America said cheekily as he tugged his boxers down enough so that he could comfortably get a hand around himself.

That was as far as he was going to go at the moment. For some reason, he didn't want to get off before England. England was expecting some hot sex, and America was going to deliver, regardless of the three thousand miles or so miles separating them. "First, instead of going for your cock, I'd cup your ass in both hands and give your cheeks a good squeeze. They're gorgeous, y'know that? Pale, round, soft. Grope-able. That's probably not a word, but I don't care 'cause I'm so blown away by your body that I can't think."

He dropped his voice to a purr. "I'd feel your hard dick on my chest, and I'll bet you'd be pressing against me—maybe even grinding your hips down desperately—but I wouldn't touch you there. I'd keep teasing you with my hands on your ass until you feel like you'd go crazy if I don't give you more. And that'd be when I'd lean up and bite you, right on one of those perfect cheeks. Not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to leave a red mark." He clutched his phone harder, concentrating on the scene he was describing. "Y'know what I'm talking about? It'd only hurt for a second, and you'd probably bitch about it, but you wouldn't wanna admit that the pleasure from the sting had gone straight to your balls. Both of us already know how much it gets you going."

Unable to help himself, America gave his shaft a stroke. Just one. His breath came short for a second. "Then I'd spread you open with my thumbs and admire your tight little hole. Before you'd have the chance to say anything, or even beg, I'd have my tongue on it. _Inside_ it. I'd close my lips around it and suck at the sensitive muscles 'til I could feel you quivering."

If that wasn't enough to get England's hand down his own pants already, then America didn't know what was.

"Heh, that wouldn't take long." England stopped just short of admitting he'd already done that. In a shaky shudder while America spoke, but England had turned his mouth away from the phone so that America couldn't hear it. He'd been holding his breath while he listened, but as soon as America mentioned his tongue entering him, England couldn't help but finally breathe out as another shiver ran through him.

"We both know how skilled your tongue is. I'd be trembling like a Yorkshire pudding soon enough." England tried to sound like he was still collected and in control, but his voice wavered slightly. The way he painfully chafed in his pants as America spoke didn't allow him to be as eloquent as usual. They'd become tight enough for him to feel himself scraping against his zipper. "It'd drive me mad. I'd rut against your chest to feel _something_ but you're such a tease you won't give me what I want. I'd moan . . . I'd moan in pleasure and pain and desperation. Doesn't surprise me at all you'd bite me. I'd let that go just once, because I wouldn't want to bitch in that position. Not when you're already teasing me so much. That'd just make you drag it out even longer. The only thing that would quiet my moans would be your cock back in my mouth."

England cradled the phone between his cheek and shoulder. He needed two hands to undo his button and zipper.

"Would you let me taste you again? I'd do it just the way you like. I'd deep-throat you. I'd take you all in and leaning over, straddled like that, you'd have quite the view, too. I'm sure you'd enjoy every bit of that, wouldn't you?"

"Hell, yes. You and your mouth and your ass . . . God. You know I'd be tempted to buck up, but I'm sure you'd have your hands on my hips, holding me down to stop me from choking you. So I'd settle for fingering you instead. Now that I've gotten you nice and wet, I'd massage your hole before taking my pinkie finger and wiggling it inside. I can just imagine it—even though it's my smallest finger, you'd clench around it, trying to milk it like you're taking my cock instead." To give himself a bit more room, America eased his jeans down a tad. England was cracking; he could tell from the sound of his voice. Maybe if he gave him one more push . . .

"You're really cute when you moan," he murmured. "So I'd press in deep, just to hear you. I can't reach your prostate like this, but I think you'd love it, 'cause as much as you say my teasing drives you up a wall, it's obvious you'd be getting off on it anyway. So . . . yeah. I'm having fun with you gulping me down and my finger up your ass. What would you want me to do next, England? Would you want me to keep fingering you? Would you want me to deep-throat you the way you're deep-throating me? Or would you want me to moan your name to let you know how much I'm enjoying your mouth and your tongue?"

If only there was an 'all of the above' option.

"I'd want it all," replied England very quickly. "But if you're cruel enough to make me choose . . . God, keep fingering me. I wouldn't want to feel empty if you pulled it out. If you did, the only thing that could make it up to me would be for you to fill me with your cock, but I know you wouldn't give me what I wanted so quickly. You enjoy watching me squirm too much. I can be satisfied with just your fingers though. That's why I'd clench around you. I know what those talented fingers can do—what they can make _me_ do."

England pushed down the top of his now-unbuttoned trousers.

"I'd buck back on that one finger and beg you for more. One isn't enough. Not one little pinkie. I'd try to make it work, grinding myself back on it, trying to get more, but it would just drive me even madder. Add another finger, America. And then another. Stretch me. Fill me. Even if it burns. I can take it. Use those long fingers to reach my prostate. You've found it enough to remember where it is. Go deep and make me moan."

"Okay, sweetie. Your wish is my command. I'd slip my pinkie out, which would leave you wanting . . . but only for a second, 'cause then I'd push my middle and index fingers in 'til they're settled deep inside you." At that point, America had to admit that even though he was going slow, he was pretty much full-on masturbating. But no point in being embarrassed; if the sound of rustling on the other end was any indication, England was in the same state. And it wasn't like this was their first time or anything. Hell, they'd _watched_ each other jerk off before, and if the awkward silence then hadn't been a turn-off, then it sure wasn't now. Especially since they were filling up the silence with sexiness.

He reached farther down and gave his balls a fondle before saying, "It really has been a while, huh? It might take a bit of poking around for me to find your prostate again, but it shouldn't take too long, 'cause your prostate'd be swollen and firm from how horny you are. When I do find it, I'd caress it for a second just to enjoy feeling you clamp down on my knuckles and shudder. Then I'd get serious. I wouldn't move my fingers in the thrusting motion you'd be expecting. Instead, I'd press my fingers to it, push against it, and keep applying a steady pressure while I'm waiting for you to break down. Y'know what I really wanna hear, England? I wanna hear you beg me to fuck you." America smirked. "I wanna hear how much you want my cock to be inside, stretching you wide open. You know me—foreplay's nice, but it's always all or nothing, baby."

"I'm not a complete douche, though," he added as an afterthought. "I'd give you that third finger that you want so bad, to give you a taste of what's coming. And you know what? I'd bring my other hand up to stroke your cock, too. I'd do it so lightly you'd barely feel it . . . then I'd press a fingertip against your slit and rub just that one spot 'til your pre-cum's all over my fingers and you're so crazy with lust that you'd give me what I'd asked for."

This, America thought, was probably the most intense round of phone sex they'd ever had. And yet he still couldn't get enough. He touched himself the way he'd described touching England—light, focused, insistent—and this time he really did moan into the speaker. "Oh, fuck, _England_."

England silently sucked in a breath. That moan was so deliciously arousing. When he said America's moans turned him on, that wasn't just fantasy fodder—it was the truth. There was no way he could keep his hand out of his pants now. "You're touching yourself, aren't you? Don't answer me. I already know it. I'm also—um." England interrupted himself. It just occurred to him, as he repositioned himself and pushed his pants down even farther, that his unicorn was still there, listening to everything he said.

England waved to the door. "Tssst, scat," he whispered to the unicorn. She'd heard enough, and it was only going to get more graphic. "I said scat!"

The unicorn snorted a huff of air, and shook her head.

"You little . . ." England stopped himself. He didn't want his stubborn mythical friend to ruin the mood. He wasn't going to risk a flagging erection shooing her out of the room. Instead he figured she'd leave of her own accord once things became heavier. So England ignored her, and it was back to the fantasy in his head before he lost it. "Sorry, that wasn't for you, love," he said to America. "I'm into many things, but not scat. Now where were we?"

England quickly remembered. "Oh, yes. That pressure on my prostate would drive me insane. I'd leak a steady stream of prostatic fluid with you holding it like that. I'm sure you'd enjoy the sight of it. My lust literally dribbling out of me, running down your wrist as you keep touching me. I'd wriggle, because the constant pressure would be too much, but I know you're stronger and would restrain me. You'd hold me until I did what you wanted. Well, you wouldn't have to ask twice. Or even once. I'd beg all on my own. I wouldn't be able to think about anything else but your thick cock inside me. Please, America. Give me what I want. Fuck me. God, _please._"

"So you want me to give you my big cock, huh?" America said, relishing the words. He glanced down at himself, and wiped a bead of pre-cum from the tip of his own cock with the pad of a thumb. The brief interruption on England's end had thrown him a little, but whatever. England was begging as desperately as America had ever heard him beg, and that was a good enough reason for America to screw him into oblivion. Virtual oblivion, rather. "Then that'd be exactly what I'd do. 'Cause even though I'd try not to show it, I want it just as much as you do. After hearing you whimper and plead, I wouldn't be able to take it anymore. I'd pull my fingers out and turn you around so that we're face-to-face . . . then I'd reach around, stretch your ass open with my dry hand, and coat your insides with your own pre-cum from my other hand. And since this is just in our heads, you'd totally be okay with riding me without one of us having to get up and find lube and condoms and crap."

That brought back a lot of . . . interesting memories. America brushed them aside.

"So I'd slowly lower you down on my dick, feeling your hole widen bit by bit and contract every now and then to adjust. You'd be tight as fuck 'cause it's been way too damn long. Once you'd taken all of me in, I'd run my hands up your sides—leaving behind a trail of your fluids from before on your skin—to bring your face down to mine for an opened-mouth kiss, and I'd give you some tongue, just for good measure. Then I'd put my hands on your hips, but I'd leave it up to you to ride me however you'd want. Think of it as me apologizing for keeping you waiting, sweetheart." He grinned. "So how would you do it, England? Nice and slow, to savor it . . . or rough and fast 'cause you can't hold out any longer?"

"Mm, I'd try to savor it," said England, "but I doubt I could last very long that way. Not after you've been teasing me and driving me mad for so long. Once you're buried inside of me, I wouldn't be able to help myself. I'd rise and lower slowly a couple times, trying to relish it, the feeling of your big cock stretching me for the first time in far too long. I may indulge myself with my fingers every now and then in your absence, but they don't compare to your dick. Finally being full would feel too good. I wouldn't be able to hold back."

England's pants were caught around his knees now. He leaned back far against the couch. He needed just the right angle.

"I'd be bouncing on your cock soon enough. It'd be fast and hard—desperate, really. I wouldn't want to admit that but you would be able to tell from the way I'd move above you. From how I'd get faster and faster because even though you're so big and stretching and filling me and hell it'd even probably burn a little, but it's still not enough. I'd slam myself down onto you over and over. Sinking you deep in me, all the way to the hilt. And moan with each and every thrust. I wouldn't be able to contain my voice. It'd just feel too good to finally have you inside me."

England licked the tips of two of his fingers. After shifting the phone back to one hand, he let his other trail back down. He was very tempted to touch his cock, as hard and sensitive as it'd become throughout this phone call. But he resisted and instead brushed past his erection, to slip the two fingers inside himself.

"Oh, so's that how it is?" America tried to affect nonchalance. He stroked himself a little faster. "Prove it to me, England. You said you wouldn't be able to contain your voice—so moan. Moan my name. Tell me _exactly_ how good I feel inside you. I wanna hear your voice when it's all sexed up, 'cause no one else can do it as good as you, and you know it." He was toying with England for all he was worth now, but God would he be in for a treat if things went his way.

"Americaaaa . . . ," England moaned, and it wasn't even fake. Because those fingers were inside him now, and with his eyes closed and imagination running wild, it wasn't hard to get lost in their fantasy. To imagine that it was America's dick inside him, instead of just fingers. That it was America's cockhead brushing against his prostate, not the tip of his middle finger.

"_Ahh_ — nnn . . . ," England said suddenly. His voice was breathy, strained. "I-I'm sure you recognize this tone already. When you first find my prostate. When you hit it, not even straight on but close enough, enough to give me a taste. My voice catches and I can't help but cry out. The simultaneous pleasure of being filled by you and being struck in just the right spot, it's—ohh . . ." England found it again with his fingers. A direct hit. He shuddered. "G-god, it's too much."

"You're fingering yourself, aren't you, baby? Fuck, you make me feel like I'm gonna blow my load already. Ride me harder, hard enough to make us both see stars. You're so hot around me, so tight—you're doing a damn good job reminding me of everything I've been missing out on." America was getting breathless, too. "Jesus, England. . . . I'm hearing you, and it's driving me nuts. I'd flip you over onto your back and then I'd fuck you into the floor. So do you want me to touch your dick? To jerk you off at the same time I'm screwing your ass and not stop 'til I get your cum all over my hand, and then let you watch me lick it up afterward?"

"God, yes, _please,_" England begged. "Roll me over and fuck me with those powerful hips of yours. Do it hard—don't you dare hold back. Use all your strength, even your super strength. I can handle it. God, I _need_ it. Do it so hard you know I'll be walking funny tomorrow. So hard your balls slap so heavily against my arse it hurts. So hard I'm _raw_."

A third finger wormed its way into England's hole. He couldn't help himself. He thrust all three fast and hard, the pace of the sex playing out inside his mind. His eyes were closed but they opened for a brief moment. Someone was still watching this. The unicorn eyed England's cock like it was a ripe apple. England quickly closed his eyes again.

"I'm pretty sure I'd cum just from your dick," panted England. "But I couldn't resist your offer . . . yes, please touch me. My cock is begging for it . . ."

"Then imagine me closing my fingers around it. Dragging roughly up and down. Squeezing hard enough to feel your pulse in my palm. And—'cause I know you go out of your mind when I do this—I'd play with your foreskin. I'd tug on it, roll it back as far as it'll go, maybe even pinch it," America got out with the last of his mental presence.

He groaned as his hand worked over himself even faster. His hips were rolling reflexively up into his grip; he was getting pretty damn close, but no way was he going to finish before England when they'd made it this far. No, England was going to orgasm first. And that was that.

England couldn't resist the urge to use his other hand anymore. Not when America mentioned England's foreskin—a weakness of his. With one hand still fingering himself, his other reached for his cock. He did exactly as America said on the other end of the line. Using his thumb and index finger he rubbed it, rolled it back, slid it along the length of his cock.

"Shit, America," said England, barely able to keep cradling the phone between his shoulder and flushed cheek. "That's exactly how I like it. God, you know me so well. I wouldn't last long like that. Not with your fingers touching—_ahh_." England cut himself off with a gasp. He'd pinched his foreskin, sending a jolt of both stinging pain and pleasure up his spine. ". . . m-me like that . . ."

England turned his face away, facing the wall. He was dangerously close to orgasm now and was embarrassed at how his unicorn was still staring so intently at him.

America, oblivious to England's little plight, said huskily, "Wouldn't last long, huh? Then come, baby. Come in my hand. I can tell that you're about to; your voice is shaking and I can practically hear you moving your hand on your dick and shoving your fingers in and out of your ass. And I'm—oh, fuck—I'm right behind you, so come already—"

"I-I'm about to," England said quickly, his voice strained. He released the pinch on his foreskin and started to pump his cock again. Long, hurried strokes up and down his entire length. His other hand's speed increased to match the frenzied pace of the one touching his dick. His fingers were hitting his prostate over and over—it felt so good, it was like a mini-orgasm each time they touched it. He couldn't speak anymore. Just noises—short, guttural grunts. Until he struck it for the last time. Then the pleasure pouring out of him forced him to moan. A low, involuntary moan. He came hard into his hand. As the last of it trickled out of him, he moaned again, "America . . ."

And that was it for America. "England, oh God," was all he had time to choke out before his hips jerked upwards, almost off the couch. It was probably one of the best orgasms he'd ever had by himself; his limbs were shaky and temporarily weak after he came down from the high, and there were still tiny sparks of pleasure lingering in his groin in the afterglow.

"Damn, England," he finally said once he'd caught his breath. "That was good. _You_ were good. Better than good—fucking fantastic. When's the next time you're coming over so we can do all that for real?"

England was still recovering from his own mind-blowing orgasm. He lay there on the couch, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath. Finally he replied, ". . . . I-I'll book the first flight out tomorrow morning. Fuck it. Cameron can be as angry as he wants with me. It will be worth it." His ragged breath started to steady. "By the way, you weren't half bad yourself. I'm rather impressed, actually. The way you babble on at meetings and such, I never would have guessed you could be coherent enough to pull something off like this."

"Well, I really do read books, y'know, so I know how to talk good and crap. Books like _Fifty Sha_—I MEAN, uh, _Twilight_. Yeah, _Twilight._ That's where I get this stuff, haha. Yup." America switched his phone to the other ear, grimaced, and reached for the tissue box on the coffee table to clean off his sticky fingers. "Plus, we've done it all before. So it's not as hard as, say, making something up from scratch or whatever. How's your ass doing, by the way?" He smirked knowingly. "Not too sore for all the sexing that's gonna happen when you get here tomorrow, right?"

"Please," England scoffed. "You've given my arse much more of pounding in the past than I ever could with just a couple of my fingers. And then I _still_ took a second and third round the same night. I will be more than ready for you tomorrow, so don't you hold back."

He sighed, pleased and sated. He still hadn't been able to bring himself to move yet. He felt too raw and worn from his orgasm moments ago. "God, that was amazing. I haven't had a wank like that in quite some time. It's almost like . . . I can still feel it . . . there's this warmth . . . touching me . . . reminds me of your tongue, how skilled it is, how you can bring me to completion with just the way you lick me when you—" England suddenly opened his eyes.

His unicorn was licking the drying cum from his hand.

England quickly withdrew his hand. And jumped onto the back of the couch like a frightened cat. "N-nevermind. IhavetogoloveyouAmericagoodn ight." He hung up in a hurry.

"Uh, good night, I . . ." America glanced down at his phone, puzzled. _Call ended_. ". . . love you, too, England."

He kept staring at the screen for a moment, then shrugged. What could he say? He was lucky enough to be dating one of the weirdest and sexiest guys in the world—he sure wasn't going to complain.

* * *

**Extra A/N: **If you guys feel like requesting a kink, please feel free to do so! However, keep in mind that not all kinks are for everyone, and that despite our mutual love for the kinky, americalovesthecockpit and I both have certain limits. If it turns out that a lot of people are placing requests, I'll put together a list of kinks that we will _not_ do and post that in later chapters for reference. Hope you liked, and drop us a review on the way out!


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